Love at First Slate
by NickeltheRed
Summary: Gilbert could tell he was wholly and completely lovesick.


**A Redhead can either become your best friend in the entire world or can become your worst enemy for years to come,**

 **and all depends on the very first impression that one makes.**

 **-.-.-**

She's a narrow freckled face he hasn't seen before—a complete stranger at first glance—but she sure stands out to him amongst the rows of bent bodies preparing for the picnic race. "Hey, Diana...who's your friend?"

Diana proudly smiles up at him, reciting the girl's name rather sweetly, "Anne Shirley."

 **.**

 **.**

It's _supposed_ to be a harmless funny name, a simple word for a vegetable, a way to describe those fiery braids of hers; but Gilbert's wrong.

 _Carrots_ quickly turns into an icy-hot barrier between them.

That's when Anne first teaches him to never anger a redheaded maiden because they are a type of people that can almost pass for an entire different breed of their own. While blondes grow into the beauties of the country, brunettes grow into the wisest among their peers, and raven-hairs become the most respectful and dutiful of them all... redheads grow into spiteful, vengeful females, and it comes very natural to them to make their tormenters regret the assaults they've made big or small, and worse, they'll make a boy feel like he doesn't even _exist_.

 **.**

 **.**

Anne returns to school with shortened hair and Diana instructs Ruby to not say anything about the hair dye when she walks in. With that, her eyes flicker towards Gilbert. She catches him shifting awkwardly in his desk, seemingly overhearing their conversation.

Diana sighs before she takes her seat across the way. She loves Anne so much already, and it's very fulfilling to have her as a friend, there's no doubt about that.

But, it truly does make her sad to watch the once confident, carefree Gilbert Blythe sinking further into his guilt over the whole _Anne Shirley has a very bad temper_ incident.

 _Honestly_ , she chides to herself. She thinks it's not needed for him to feel that way, and that Anne ought to forgive him by now. She definitely would have if was her in Anne's place. _Any girl here would_.

On the other hand, what could she say to him? Her loyalties are to be placed with Anne. That's just common sense when one is in a friendship like theirs.

So Diana makes an effort to hold her tongue about it, all the while she is privately astounded by Anne's unique... _boldness_...that the other girls in Avonlea don't necessarily have. Diana would admit that she is even impressed by it, a bit envious too, if only Anne wouldn't be so...deliberately... _cruel_ to Gilbert particularly.

From all sides, Diana continues to watch Gilbert virtually turn into a ball of yarn in which Anne...happily, _slyly,_ unravels bit by bit, testing her luck with him.

"Gosh, Anne...," she says awestruck under her breath after they pass Josie clinging onto Gilbert's arm like she owns him, "...you have more nerve than a fox in a henhouse."

 **.**

 **.**

Gilbert Blythe has become a decent young man who believes in a proper religion, also logic and reason over any silly superstition. But he does eventually find himself questioning Anne's ridiculous speech-twisting tales of enchantment.

Well, that is, to a degree.

For he knows for certain that Anne was not born with such magical gifts herself. However, it is somewhat ironic that he was charmed by her presence almost instantly. In fact, _she's_ the one who shattered the slate over _his_ head, and it was _his_ head that ached for hours after it happened, and yet, _he's_ the one who keeps on apologizing for it.

Anne's joyful, willful smiles are practically contagious to Dianna and the few other girls who like to swoon over imaginary knights. Though each time their eyes meet directly, those smiles fade from sight and the stormclouds return to her blueish-grey stare.

And Gilbert won't show it often, because he does have some dignity left to stand with—and there are important books to be read, serious classes to be taken, and chores to be done, and his parents to look after—but on the inside, he is still tearing away at himself when he can't see Anne.

She'll always be on his mind, and when he did see her in person, she'll act like his voice is just another roll of wind over grass.

Heaven forgive him that he's just at that sort of age, just a common farmer boy yet, and by the darkening, festering, _desperate_ sensation gradually building in his gut, he could tell that he was wholly and completely lovesick.

Therefore, in a way, she does have her own magic binding him to her, and he may be bewitched after all.

 **.**

 **.**

 _Yes, yes, Anne, listen to Diana,_ Gilbert pleads inwardly when Anne begins to climb the ladder with the dangerous intention of walking along Moody's rooftop.

Her eyes lower to observe his once— _please don't do this—be careful_ —but she's already up there being as stubborn as always, moving step by step, and then, it's too late—she's wavering—she falls.

That's the first time in a long time where Gilbert has felt his breath get snagged in his throat from the fear of losing something.

Once Anne hobbles out of view on her twisted foot and all, he gives Josie a pointed look and withdraws from her reach, nerves unsettled.

 **.**

 **.**

It's at the Christmas Ball when Gilbert _finally_ begins to slowly move on from his mistake, and releases himself from whatever period of penance Anne has bestowed upon him. He _finally_ sees it for what it really is as he and Josie whirl themselves in front of Anne and Diana on the dancefloor, moving with crowd.

Anne whispers something to Diana, looking fairly haughty, and Gilbert's thoughts drift away from his grip on Josie and the whole party altogether. He realizes that Anne's own routine with him...her double-pointed gestures are now simply there to lure him in and then crush his of hopes simultaneously.

He _notices_ how this has indeed turned into a game to her. And yes, that disappoints him briefly, it jabs him in the chest...and later on, he doesn't even wish her a happy Christmas because he wants to believe that he's no longer willing to enable her childish whims. Besides, it is not ladylike to toy with someone's feelings like she has been doing.

Then, why is he still favoring to play?

Why is his hand reaching for her dance card left abandoned on the dessert table?

Why is he keeping it?

 **.**

 **.**

There are certain nights where, beyond anyone's suspicions, Gilbert will suddenly wake up in the warmth of his bed, drenched in a cold sweat from head to torso, feeling stiff, anxious, fraught, pitiful, and corrupted. Impure. And he'll just rest there, waiting for the break of dawn as he rethinks about his dreams filled with Anne and her flaming red hair.

 **.**

 **.**

Even now, she's in a perfect position to feel humiliated with her soaking wet hair and her pretty white dress stained green with water scum, and she still doesn't let her defenses gave way.

That hardly bothers him anymore since Gilbert has come to simply accept that she'll will be persistent whenever she wants to be, no matter what year it is. That's just Anne.

Gilbert considers it must be _exhausting_ to wield such heavy stubbornness, but evidently she's had a lifetime of experience in doing so, and with a wide smirk tugging at his lips, he braces his palm against the wooden beams above them and pushes the boat away from the bridge, fully amused. "Lake trout?"

And when it's when they get to the safety of the riverbank when they actually have a more heartfelt talk about their past and of their schooling and Anne's eyes are no longer hard or stormy while she runs off to find everyone else.

He's at least glad for that.

 **.**

 **.**

When Matthew dies, Anne looks quite different now in her time of sorrow; the grief somehow causes her to appear more mature, more sensible. She bows her head towards the gravestone for one last look before she makes her way out of the chilling courtyard with Marilla.

And as Gilbert catches them just in time near the fence, he can read the silent words dancing behind Anne's tear-rimmed gaze after he grants them both his condolences.

 _I don't think I'll never love again._

He nods quickly in gentle, polite parting after Marilla excuses them to leave.

 _Of course you will._

* * *

 **I hope I did (well, younger) Anne fair justice, since I honestly do feel emotionally attached to her character.**

 **My family even nicknames me "Anne Shirley" every time I get overdramatic or stubborn, and plus we're both redheads born in March who were both adopted and grew up to become very imaginative writers.** **We have so much in common that Anne is basically my literary double.**


End file.
